


Fire dancing

by stele3



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bloodplay, Crossover, M/M, Suicidal Tendencies, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stele3/pseuds/stele3





	Fire dancing

The first time Adam met Spencer Smith, he tried to stab Adam in the back with a stake.  
  
Fortunately Adam heard him coming a country mile away. Well, more like a few hundred feet, but the sentiment stands. He could easily have dodged into a nearby doorway or leapt onto a fire escape – flashy, yes, but still a novelty that he enjoyed – except the sheer amount of noise this would-be hunter made had piqued Adam's curiosity. Seriously, this guy was practically thundering his way down the sidewalk. All anger and no style, no sense. It wasn't the first time a vamp-basher had taken a swing at Adam – he didn't wear prosthetics over his teeth or change his clothes to blend in; he had nothing to hide, nothing that _should_ be hidden – but even the most ignorant assholes made an attempt to fucking _tiptoe._  
  
Adam felt vaguely insulted.  
  
He waited until the guy had gotten within swinging distance then stepped sideways. The guy – the _kid_ , he couldn't have been more than 18 – almost stabbed into his own leg on the wild downstroke and Adam rolled his eyes, grabbing his wrist so that the little prick couldn't claim that Adam had done that to him. It was late and the street looked mostly deserted, but plenty of Night Patrols would love to take a call about sweet little blue-eyed boys being stabbed by nasty vampires.  
  
Obviously the kid had never done this before, because he panicked the moment Adam's fingers closed around his wrist. He reared back, his body twisting snake-fast to free his trapped limb. Adam was faster, of course, and pivoted, swinging him around to slam into a convenient wall. The kid gasped thinly as he made contact, grabbing at the forearm that Adam laid across his throat.  
  
"Point one," Adam said into the kid's face. They were pressed together and he could smell the sourness of adrenaline, of fear, blooming between them. "Converse sneakers are a really silly thing to wear when you're stalking the undead. They squeak. Loudly." The kid bucked and Adam bore down hard until he gurgled, face reddening. He was a chunky little thing and had a truly unfortunate scenester haircut, uneven bangs falling in his face. His eyes, though, were bright, lovely blue. "Point two. If you're going to carry one sharp pointy thing, carry two." Adam bared his fangs.  
  
The kid was still struggling feebly, his expression closed off in that special way that meant not a word of this was getting through. Adam rolled his eyes and stepped back, using the grip he still had on the kid's wrist to yank him away from the wall and send him tumbling down to the sidewalk. The stake clattered into the gutter.  
  
The kid hunched on his hands and knees, head hanging low as he caught his breath. For a moment his scent filled Adam's nose: the bite of adrenaline faded into the ripeness of blood rising to pool just under the skin; his heart throbbed jackrabbit fast, something small and trapped inside the kid's chest.   
  
Adam turned crisply on his heel, walking away without a backward glance.  
  
-o-  
  
The next time Adam met Spencer Smith, he was still wearing Converse. Adam was wearing knee-high platform boots, leather pants, a ripped mesh top that he'd accidentally appropriated from the last guy he'd taken into one of the club's private rooms – he hoped that the guy was enjoying Adam's tank top; it was probably a lot cooler than the mesh, but vampires conveniently didn't sweat (which made clubbing a lot more pleasant for everyone) – and was standing on the upper level bopping along to the music when he looked down into the crowd and saw a familiar head.  
  
He couldn't say why he remembered. It'd been over two years. There were plenty of ridiculous vampire myths, and that one about always remembering scents ranked high among them; it'd be absurd, anyway, to imagine that he could pick out one specific smell from the many human club-goers mingling with vampires below him in one wild, surging, half-clothed, jubilant mess.  
  
Perhaps he just had a good memory for people who'd tried to kill him.  
  
People who were now walking slowly through the crowd. And maybe that was why Adam's eye had been drawn: his body language was slack, open, his elbows bent at his sides and his hands hovering near the hem of his T-shirt. He'd lost weight and gained height, but there was something so unmistakably vulnerable about the way he held himself that it brought Adam up short, made him put aside the drink he'd been holding. (Not drinking. Most booze was pretty gross without the buzz; Victoria knew this and had appointed him guardian of her drink while she did a jaunt on the dance floor, the slattern.)  
  
Logically he knew he should summon a security guard, preferably a human one so as to avoid accusations of discrimination. What he did, though, was abandon Victoria's drink to its own devices and make his way down to the dance floor.   
  
By the time Adam got there, he wasn't the only one who had noticed the silent invitation. A pair of tall, gorgeous girls with dark skin and the drastic piercings of vampires still reveling in their heightened pain tolerance were standing over Adam's would-be attacker. He hadn't stepped away an inch and had actually _lifted up his chin_ to look at them, exposing the pale line of his neck. He couldn't be more obvious if he knelt on the club's sticky floor and opened a vein.  
  
Adam's skin didn't prickle, that was a strictly human reaction, but he imagined the feeling. Well, _that_ was quite the image, wasn't it?  
  
He didn't cut in. He didn't have to. People knew him, even in certain human circles; he owned the fucking club, after all, and had made a point of inviting both sides to party at Idol. He stood behind the guy and smiled, pointedly keeping his teeth tucked away. It didn't take long for the African queens to sidle off, and then that long bare throat was craning Adam's way, blue eyes squinting then widening in shock.   
  
Apparently he had a good memory for people he'd tried to kill.  
  
Adam backed him right up to a wall. Anyone else would be drawing sharp glances from the security – Adam had written the feeding-consent clauses himself – but this was Adam's club. He ducked his head down and the body against his went rigid.  
  
Adam paused, ran the tip of his nose against the soft skin below the guy's earlobe, then turned his head to ask of the ear itself, "What's your name?"  
  
Stepping back, he turned his head and presented his own ear. It wasn't at all necessary, but it kept him close.   
  
"Spencer Smith," came the eventual answer. "You're – "  
  
"Adam Lambert. I own this club." He straightened, watching as that sank in. "Get the fuck out."  
  
-o-  
  
The first time Adam fed off Spencer Smith was later that night, or early the next morning, depending on how one counted these things. Late/early enough that Adam should really be home snuggling up to a midnight snack instead of lurking -- _lurking_ , honestly, what would his mother think? – in a dark hallway waiting for some guy who'd tried to kill him once to finish trudging up the stairs to his door.  
  
Spencer Smith took his sweet time, even pausing long enough on the landing that Adam thought that Spencer must have sensed him somehow. But then the plodding footsteps resumed and when he came down the hall Adam could see the way Spencer's shoulders slumped inward, the dollar-store grocery bags dangling from both hands.  
  
He set them down outside his door. Adam waited as he fumbled with the keys, pushing his long hair out of his face.  
  
The moment he had it unlocked, Adam came up behind him and swept him inward, kicking the door shut behind them and swinging Spencer around to pin him against its frame.  
  
His move made, he put his palms against the door on both sides of Spencer's body and raised an eyebrow.  
  
Shock faded to recognition, but not fear. Instead Spencer shifted his weight onto one foot, sticking his hip out until it brushed Adam's wrist.  
  
"Do you just go around pushing people against walls for fun," Spencer inquired, and his voice was surprisingly steady if a little breathless, "or is there ever a point to it?"  
  
Adam let his other eyebrow slip upwards at the open challenge. "Would you like there to be a point to it?"  
  
"Thought it was two points," Spencer shot back.   
  
Adam laughed despite himself, surprised and delighted and surprised by his delight. "You make it sound so sordid. Can't a guy stalk another guy home out of genuine interest in his personality?"  
  
Spencer snorted. "What're you, new at this? Maybe I have a roommate," he added, more as an afterthought than a threat.  
  
Adam tossed a glance over his shoulder at the tiny bachelor apartment. "If there were more than one person living here I'm pretty sure it'd be a code violation. I have larger crawlspaces. Nicer, too." He paused and frowned as he took a closer look. "On the other hand, I doubt that's the only code violation going on."  
  
"The glamorous life of the undead," Spencer said with acid in his voice, running his eyes over Adam's artfully frayed thigh-length duster.  
  
"Hey, I wasn't the only one cruising tonight. I'd understand if you were just looking for someplace else to sleep for the night." Adam shifted back and slid his hands up the door until they bracketed Spencer's shoulders. He leaned into them, bringing his face level with Spencer, and smiled. Wide. Spencer went still. "But that wasn't _all_. Which brings me to the reason for my visit."  
  
"I didn't know it was your club. I won't go again."  
  
"Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm just mildly curious how you went from chasing vampires down dark alleys with a stake to walking around my club like a mobile blood donation center. Care to illuminate, babycakes?"  
  
Spencer bristled at the pet name. He straightened away from the wall, edging into Adam's body. Their faces were inches apart. Adam had changed to more lurking-appropriate shoes and Spencer had grown a few inches in the last two years, but there was still an inch and a half of height difference, and from the sharp look of the collarbone his shirt, Spencer hadn't been eating much lately. He smelled like sweat and car exhaust and weariness. Something curled unexpectedly in Adam's stomach.  
  
"I'm embracing diversity," Spencer said while Adam dealt with his own internal revelation. "I've seen the error of my ways. Human and vampire, one community, living in harmony, blah blah."  
  
"Oh well I wouldn't go that far," Adam said, refocusing. "We've had our share of mishaps." Something flashed over Spencer's expression, too fast even for Adam to see. He went on carefully, paying close attention in case it happened again. "Rules are there for a reason, but they're no guarantee. If you got out dancing with fire, sooner or later it's in the nature of the fire to burn you."  
  
Spencer laughed, short and dismissive. "Wow. What, what even is that? Did you practice that line?"  
  
"Actually, that's paraphrased from a Neil Simon musical. You either hate yourself and desperately want someone to put you down, or you've lost someone."  
  
That finally put Spencer on his heels, both literally and figuratively. His throat clicked as he swallowed. "Or both," Adam added softly.  
  
"What the fuck do you care?" Spencer ground out. His eyes were _blazing_ , and the coil in Adam's belly wound tighter. "I told you I wasn't coming back to your fucking club. Now either get the fuck out of here or – "  
  
Adam grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and pivoted, pulling Spencer straight out from the door then catching his arm in passing and twisting it up behind him. Spencer flailed out with his other arm; Adam caught that one in the crook of his elbow, reeled Spencer in tight against his chest, clamped one hand over his mouth, and used his grip there to pull Spencer's head to one side. He dropped his mouth to Spencer's neck.  
  
He didn't bite. He opened his mouth wide enough that the points of his teeth rested against Spencer's skin. Spencer stopped struggling. He was panting against Adam's palm, breath rushing in and out of his nose. Adam had both of his arms pinned, but Spencer didn't kick at all, didn't try to get free.  
  
A train went by, close. The whole place shook. Charming.  
  
Once it had passed, Adam lifted his head. His teeth scraped a bit and a trapped shiver ran through Spencer's body. Adam had to close his eyes for a second, because he was only human – except not, except not, but it was the _sentiment_ , dammit – and with Spencer pressed this close he could feel the steady throb of life, pushing outward underneath every inch of skin. Everything in him wanted to bite down, to let it out where he could touch it, taste it, feel that warmth again.  
  
There were freckles on Spencer's throat, across his cheek. Adam's had all faded long ago.  
  
"Ultimatums only work if you can back them up, baby," he said lightly into Spencer's ear. "And I really don't think that's a stake in your pocket."  
  
He let go and stepped away, his brain swimming with hunger but fully intending to go seek out willing partners who knew their limits and didn't have such hollow eyes. Except Spencer turned right around and stepped after him, reaching. It was the kind of step that stayed in motion, heading back to Idol or one of its less reputable neighbors. Or a dark back alley.  
  
 _This_ , he thought calmly as he stepped back to meet Spencer's frantic mouth with his own, _is the sort of thing that ends badly._ Spencer had made another ultimatum, though, one he probably didn't even realize he'd given, and Adam had a strong feeling that Spencer would back this one up.  
  
-o-  
  
The single mattress in the corner of Spencer's room was, tragically, not the sketchiest one Adam had ever laid on, though he had a strong suspicion that it'd been rescued from beside a dumpster at some point. It was a good thing that he couldn't catch communicable diseases anymore.  
  
Spencer didn't seem to care either, but it was becoming increasingly clear that Spencer was not all With It at the present moment. Or at any other time, probably, which should have been enough for Adam to sit back on his knees and say, _you know, baby, they have pamphlets for this sort of thing._ Except he suspected that Spencer might kick him in the face.   
  
And he far preferred Spencer this way, twisting like a wild thing underneath him. When he thrashed out of his shirt there were freckles across his shoulders and chest, too, and between those dark points the skin was white and surprisingly soft.   
  
"Fuck, I wanna mark you up," Adam hissed and Spencer nodded, arching up and wriggling his hips as he worked at his belt.  
  
Adam helped him get his pants and boxers off then curled his fingers around Spencer's ankles, pulling his legs wide. Spencer was staring down at him, propped up on his elbows, and Adam shook his head. "Lie flat. Hands at your sides."  
  
Spencer sank back, his eyes falling shut without a command. He was almost spread-eagled, hampered on one side by the wall and half-falling off the mattress on the other. The sound and smell of him was everywhere, sharp with his arousal.  
  
Lifting one of Spencer's legs by the ankle, Adam ducked his head and put his mouth against the inside of his calf. He pressed sucking kisses in a line, up and up. He kept his teeth to himself. "Tibial artery," he murmured once he'd reached Spencer's knee, then moved on. "Femoral," he murmured against the inside of his thigh. The artery beat against the other side of the skin and Adam took his time, sucking until his teeth left little puncture marks, not proper bites but enough to bruise.  
  
By the time Adam moved on, murmuring, "Branchial artery," against the inside crook of his elbow, Spencer was wire tight and trembling beneath him. The rebound might break them both, but Adam whispered, "External jugular," then spent fifteen minutes torturing Spencer's neck -- fuck, he could _see_ Spencer's pulse there, pounding away -- and then, then it was worth whatever price they had to pay later.  
  
-o-  
  
Fortunately Spencer had a South-facing apartment, and small windows. It was still more light than Adam was used to and he lay awake long after Spencer had passed out curled up on his side. Adam checked his pulse a few times; the mattress had a few (new) bloodstains but in the end he hadn't drunk that much. Not near as much as Spencer had wanted to give.   
  
Spencer shifted in his sleep, wincing a little. Adam reached down to pull the covers up over them both and politely didn't look too close at the pictures of smiling people that Spencer had duct-taped to the wall beside his mattress.


End file.
